How To Save A Life
by Havoc-Cheese590
Summary: My life shall be placed in your hands, whether I want it to or not, and it shall ultimately be balanced upon a scale of pain and pleasure. I hope that happiness and joy shall find not only me but the true part of you as well...
1. Screaming Pink

Canada sighed as he dropped his head to look at his hands politely folded in his lap, not wanting to look at the walls of the conference room that were staring at him. He should have known this would have happened. How could he have been foolish enough as to think someone would actually notice him? No one ever did so what difference did today make?

He had woken up extra early, taken a long shower, dressed in his nicest uniform and had even come without his polar bear confidant. Canada had arrived at the conference room a half hour early and made sure to wave and say hello politely to every nation that walked through the front door. Not one person said hello back or even looked at him. They just brushed past and kept walking towards their seat as if he was invisible.

What was he thinking? It wasn't as _if_ he was invisible, he _was_ invisible. That was the truth and he figured he'd have to learn to accept it. He should have been used to it. He had performed the same routine for years on end when he hear about a conference, forbid he should ever be informed. Always he was treated as invisible.

Canada could understand shyness as the reason why some countries wouldn't want to speak with him. That he could bare, but what he couldn't stand was being ignored by those who supposedly used to "love him".

When England walked in Canada would always smile and say hello more cheerfully than others. Today in particular he had actually stood up and waved to England, saying hello and adding the French term _l'ami _to the end. England just walked past after bumping their shoulders together harshly.

When France entered the room Canada would always hope he remembered how close they used to be when Canada was little. Today he had stood close to France and greeted him the most proper he could by saying," _Bonjour mon pere, comment t'allez vous?" _

France had looked at him with cold and skeptical eyes, and then before leaving said to him in a flat voice,"_ Ca va mal avec toi ici."_

When Cuba had walked in Canada would always pray he remembered exactly who he was. Today in particular Canada had started to ask if he wanted to do something the following weekend but Cuba had hit him square in the face telling him to," Shut up America, you're pissing me off."

America… America was the worst of them all. America was the one who had hurt Canada the most severely. He was horrible and deceitful and a liar because he was the one who actually made Canada believe he loved him. America had gotten through Canada's wall of silence and solitude and slowly broken it down bit by bit until he got the real part of the Canadian's heart.

Canada had known America his whole life so why wouldn't he trust him? They were "brothers" after all. Canada couldn't have known any different at the time, America was his first love.

It had been sudden but not unwanted. America, after years of acquaintanceship, had taken an interest in Canada. It started with America showing up unexpectedly at his front door asking if he wanted to take a walk. Canada had agreed and before the both of them knew it three hours had passed and they were in the middle of the woods in the dark. After a few weeks taking walks turned into America asking Canada to dinner, then coming to his house, and then ending with America confessing his feelings. America looking him straight in the eyes with hands held in his, blue eyes against blue, and speaking the three words Canada thought no one would ever say to him.

_I love you._

Looking back Canada thought himself foolish. Back then he never would even think to consider that America didn't mean it. He would never think that America would say those same words to countless other people. He would never think America was lying. How stupid he had been…

It had been great though. Living with America and having him in his life as a lover. How many days were spent with kind words and loving embraces. How many times America would smile at him and it would make his heart pound. How many instances where America had pulled Canada into his lap and held him for what seemed like hours. How many countless times America had lead Canada into the bedroom and made love to him, always leaving Canada's heart pounding and breath rough. How many times America had said to him in so many different tones those three words.

_I love you._

Now… those words brought nothing but sheer pain. Canada wished all the happy memories would go away and leave him alone. He wished he could pass out for a while and wake up with his brain wiped clean of all remembrance. Why he felt so awful about America now? Simple reason actually. America was the only one in Canada's life and then one day, suddenly, he left and completely destroyed him.

Canada had woken up one morning to see America sitting on the couch quite solemnly with a sad expression on his face. Canada knew what he was going to say. He knew why America looked so sullen. He knew what was going to happen. But hearing the words just made the pain worse.

_I don't love you anymore._

Canada's eyes had widened and tears had started to spill uncontrollably.

_I want to see other people._

Canada had started to sputter that he could change or back off and that he would do anything just as long as America would stay.

_I'm sorry; I just don't want to be together anymore._

But…they had been together for almost five years… they were so close… America said he loved him… Canada loved him.

_Things change._

Canada had fallen silent and had simply nodded. America didn't apologize, didn't hug Canada goodbye, and didn't even say a word. America just went upstairs, got his things, left his key to the house on the table, and left.

That was four years ago and Canada could still feel the exact same pain. He could still hear the door closing. He could still hear America's fading footsteps. He could still hear himself screaming. The hurt never went away.

Canada knew he should have known better and known he should have moved on by now but…America… he was too memorable. He had lifted him up too high and had left him with too big of scars. It was impossible to push past. Too others he looked perfectly fine and cheerful, as if nothing ever bothered him. But on the inside… he was dying. There was hardly anything left.

This empty conference room just made it worse. It just reminded him how lonely he felt and how alone he actually was. America on the other hand was doing quite well. He apparently hadn't even been fazed.

In the past four years America had been with Mexico, that had lasted about a year and two months, England, that was doomed to fail from the start of the ten month relationship, Russia, they fought too much so they lasted about six or seven months, Japan, America had gotten bored after a year or so, North Italy, they had broke up after Germany had gotten jealous about three months later, and now America's new "love interest", Lithuania.

A part of Canada told him that he himself was more important than America's other lovers since America had been with them for such short amounts of time and he had stayed with Canada for five years. Another part of Canada told him that was only because America had been young and didn't know any different.

"I can still hear his voice…" Canada said to no one as he felt the sting of tears starting to well. It wasn't uncommon for Canada to think back on the only time in his life when he had been happy. It also wasn't uncommon for him to remember America's harsh words…

_I don't love you anymore._

His heart was breaking again… hurting too much… it was getting to painful again…

_I want to see other people._

Tears alone weren't making it any better or the quieted screams that were coming from his mouth…

_I'm sorry; I just don't want to be together anymore._

He didn't want to do this… not here, he wanted to wait until later… but he could barely even hold in the screams now… the tears were drowning him…

_Things change._

That was it. His eyes widened and panicked as he searched for something, anything. His shaking fingers found a fine point pen and his breath quickened. His head darted back and forth, confirming the room was empty and he heard no footsteps. Slowly he lifted the sleeve of his left arm to the elbow and looked at the flesh of his underarm.

It looked like someone had laced the pale skin with red and brown thread, making mistakes in some sports where the wounds were too deep and were screaming pink. You could barely see the white of his skin on his arms anymore. His arm was red, screaming and angry, criss-crossing everywhere, except around his wrist where it was untouched. He didn't want to die; he just wanted the pain he felt inside to stop.

Maybe he should do it on his right arm this time… well his right arm wasn't much better. Besides he had to write with that hand and if he winced too much or opened a wound by accident someone might get suspicious… not that anyone would care.

Canada pressed the tip of the pen to a random spot on the underside of his forearm and dragged it across the already marked skin harshly. He felt the sting and the skin opening beneath the sharp point. He pressed even harder and saw blood following the object in his hand. His breathing was getting harder from the excruciating pain but anything was better than feeling his heart break.

Scratch…breaking skin…cut…more blood…tear… little streams of the red liquid. Tears dripped from his eyes and mixed with his blood now starting to drip onto his dark pants. He hadn't thought to bring bandages… how stupid he was.

He kept carving into his arm, both the underside and the upper until all the cuts mixed together and until he couldn't feel pain anywhere anymore. He kept going though…warding off the hurt as much as he could. Eventually he went to his right and started to cut there as well. He sighed as he was about to drag the point across the equally mutilated skin when suddenly he heard a gasp from behind him.

Canada's eyes widened and he sharply turned his head to see who was standing there. His eyes met his original source of pain.

America stood there gaping at him, his eyes wide and confused, and his body frozen where it stood. Neither of them said a word and Canada could feel America's eyes looking at his arms over and over again.

Canada felt fear and shame from the fresh and old self inflicted wounds on his arms and he was curious to what America was thinking about him.

"I-I forgot…my pen and papers…" Canada looked at the pen in his hand and wondered how he could have missed that it was America's engraved pen. The name 'Alfred F. Jones' was engraved in gold script on the side and it was hard to miss… now it had Canada's blood on the tip… he stupidly hoped America wouldn't be mad.

Canada hurriedly pulled his sleeves down, fully knowing it was too late to hide them, and held the pen out to America. The red was already starting to seep through the white of his coat.

"H-Here…I-I'm sorry…I-I'll p-pay for a n-new one…" Canada avoided America's eyes and felt the other man's fingertips brush against his own taking the pen from his hand. But then he felt America's hand slowly close around his wrist and turn his arms over so that the cuts were facing upward. He gently pulled up his sleeve and the air stung his fresh wounds as did the position he was in and he instinctively tried to pull away. America just kept a hold on his marked arm.

"…What are you doing to yourself…?" America asked him this quietly, his voice quiet but yet strained. Canada tried to pull his arm away once again but this time America pulled him up from his chair. He held up Canada's arm in front of his face, making their own see them while they were scabbed, some still bleeding.

Canada turned his head away and said quietly, not fighting anymore," Like you care…" Canada bit his bottom lip and felt America's blue eyes going back and forth from his sad and pained face to his cut up arm.

America sighed softly and he too cast his gaze in a different direction, still keeping his hold on the Canadian. Out of the corner of his eye Canada saw America pull tissues out of his pocket and felt them being pressed gently onto his fresh cuts. His other arm was starting to drip onto the floor and he was getting a bit dizzy.

"Here, come with me, I'll bandage you up." America said pulling gently on his hand, gesturing him to follow. Canada eyed him a bit skeptically wondering why all of a sudden he was so important. America hadn't spoken two words to him years. Why the sudden attention?

"Where are we going…?" Canada asked quietly as he walked down the hallway with America who was still holding bloody tissues to his arm.

"I'm taking you home." Canada's heart fluttered like butterflies at the sound of these words. His mind must have not been too clear since he thought dumbly that America was taking him to his house and staying. Canada thought of home as wherever America lived with him and stayed. Unfortunately he misinterpreted.

"You have band aids at your house right?" America questioned looking at Canada who hadn't responded. Canada knew he was dumb to think America was actually taking him back but a near silent sigh escaped his mouth anyway. He simply nodded feeling his heart break into even more pieces.

He wished America would let go of his arm. The touch was too gentle and comforting…too believable.

_Author's Notes_

_The life span of depression, how horrible and how strangling it can be. Of course having the one person who made life better break your heart doesn't help matters either. I'm aware this is a touchy and a complex subject, how does one write about the topic of self-mutilation, but I believe to accept the truth we must first face it. In a sense, I can personally relate to this on a few different levels and I tried to capture the essence of pain to the best of my abilities._

_This is my apology for being so inactive and for not updating in so long. I apologize! Things happen and life runs a course! This is only the first chapter of this series, which I intend to be somewhat short, and I will be changing the rating to M at a later date since it looks as though I'm going to be bringing this into "that" department. _

_Thanks for reading~!  
_


	2. The Sting of Gentle Poison

Canada couldn't help but wince as the strong smelling alcohol seeped into his cuts and stung the flesh underneath. America held the man's arm still as he dabbed more of the liquid into the slits with a few cotton balls.

"Sorry if it stings…they look a little infected." America apologized as he threw away his tenth cotton ball and reached in the bag for more. The cleansing fluid made Canada's cuts look redder and deeper. Little bubbles formed at the ends showing that bacteria was present in his cuts.

Canada just shook his head and replied," It's fine. I can handle it."

"Compared to how deep these are… I would think so…" Why did America's voice sound almost sad when he said that? Canada knew that he didn't care about him so…why would causing himself harm make that any different? America had left his life and Canada sadly knew he wasn't coming back. Care and worry went along with that package. All of it was straight out the window when America left… it wasn't returning anytime soon. Canada might as well just spare himself the trouble.

"You don't have to do that America… I can do it myself."

"It's fine I'm almost done anyway." America replied now reaching for the band aids. "But can I ask you something…?"

"S-Sure…anything." Canada, however hurt or destroyed he was by America, was weak to the man's touch and to his voice. He was melting like butter. America's voice held too much care and comfort and… concern. Oh God why did America sound like he actually was affected by the fact Canada was in pain…?

"Why are you doing this to yourself? Usually this is… a cry for help. Or at least that's what I heard. Are you having political problems?"

Canada shook his head as his wall of inner solitude was melting along with the rest of him. He shouldn't be telling America what he was feeling, he knew America didn't care and would leave any second.

"No it's not that…" Canada felt America gently smooth bandages over his arms, making it hurt as little as possible.

"Then what is it…?" America looked at Canada, who sitting just inches from him on the couch, and the rest of him turned into a puddle. Canada kicked himself for being so powerless to the American. He should have known better than to look directly into his crystal clear blue eyes. He should have known better than to listen that carefully to his voice. He should have known better than to have let America walk him home in the first place.

"I'm lonely." America fell silent and stared at Canada's downcast face. Canada waited with a throbbing heart for him to say something, anything. An apology, a question, anything…

"That's a stupid reason Canada." Canada's head shot up and looked at the American. Stupid reason? What would he know about loneliness? No one walked past him without looking! No one pretended he was invisible! No one completely shattered his heart!

"What…?" Canada asked a bit shocked.

"I said that's a stupid reason to do that to yourself. If you're lonely go find some friends. It shouldn't be hard since you're a nice guy. Hurting yourself like that over something you can change is completely idiotic. I mean come on, it's not hard to-"

"How would you know?" Canada asked interrupting him. "How would you know anything about loneliness? You think I didn't try to make new friends? You think I didn't try and meet new people? I did America and guess what? They don't care. They walk right past me as if I don't exist. I'm invisible to them. I'm invisible to everyone. Who are you to say it's a stupid reason? Does the entire world ignore you? Does your own father insult you and forget who you are? Does your only friend mistake you for someone else? No America they don't. Not you. Everyone knows who you are but no one knows who I am and it **hurts**."

America's gaze softened as he heard Canada's words. Twice he opened his mouth to speak, only to reclose it, not sure what to say. Canada had never told America how he felt about always being ignored or the fact that he was being ignored in the first place. Canada let out a long sigh and looked out the window that was near the couch that they were sitting on.

"…What can I do?" America asked softly, gently touching Canada's wrist. Canada knew exactly how to answer that question. He had known how to answer that question for years. Ever since America had left him all he had wanted to do was say these words to him but he never had the courage. He was always too worried about causing the American some kind of trouble or some form of pain. But for now…Canada felt bold… as if the cuts on his arms were a sign of courage… even though they were just a way for him to hide.

"I miss you America… please come back home." Canada said in a sad tone, keeping his eyes on the floor. He heard America sigh and rub the back of his own head.

"I don't know what I did wrong…" Canada continued. "I tried to treat you the best I could… was I too clingy or needy? I've grown up a bit since then, I'm different now. Please America…Alfred…I miss you."

Another sigh left America's mouth. "I really don't need this right now…"

Canada was crushed like glass beneath a stone. He had just told America how he had felt for the past three years and now he was telling him he didn't need this…? Why was America so confusing…? Why did America insist on continuously breaking Canada even more than he was…?

"That was a while ago. I mean sure it was nice while it lasted but I moved on."

Hurt was quickly turning to anger…

"You can't tell me you're actually happy." Canada said trying not to grit his teeth. America raised an eyebrow at the blonde and scoffed quietly.

"How would you know that? You're not me."

"You can't tell me you're happy going in and out of so many relationships and Lithuania doesn't exactly seem like your type America…"

"Hey just because you're unhappy and just because you can't handle a break up doesn't mean I have to fall apart and become a miserable depressing mess too! Unlike you I have a life okay? I'm happy playing the field and maybe if you learn to come out of this so called invisible state, you could benefit from doing the same! I'm not the only one out there and I'm not going to come back just because you want me to and because you covered yourself in cuts!"

Canada fell deadly silent. America's words stung. Every beat of his heart brought more pain and every breath felt like knives going up his throat. He blinked furiously to push back the tears since he figured that would just make America angrier. He held his arms close to his body, trying to shield the fresh band aids and hung his head low, trying to hide himself from humiliation.

He nodded feebly. "I'm sorry…" His voice was barely a whisper. He bit down on his tongue trying to subdue the all too present cries making their way up his vocal cords. He tried to think of something, anything, to keep him from crying.

Beaches, sunlight, flowers, the first snow of the year, the smell of maple, polar bear cubs… anything.

"You don't have to stay here… I'm fine now. Say hi to Lithuania for me okay?" Canada said getting up from the couch to lead America out the front door. America nodded and got up from his seat as well to follow the Canadian.

"Thank you for helping me and I'll uhm… I'll try to do what you said…" Canada said although his heart felt as if it was going to stop beating and that he would drop dead onto the floor. He didn't want to see America walk out the front door again… seeing that would kill him. He chose to look at his shoes.

"Don't take it that way… I just… I don't want to see you like this…" America said gently to him placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You have a funny way of showing it… really I'm fine. Don't worry okay?" Canada said plastering joy into his voice as he unlocked the front door. He felt guilty now for making America angry from his own feelings. He sighed quietly and opened the front door.

"Stop by whenever you want… the door is always op-" America's hand flew past his head and firmly closed the door before it was even fully opened. Canada stared for a few seconds at the hand that was inches away from his face. He slowly turned and looked at America with questionable eyes.

"America…? What are-" America grabbed the back of Canada's head, weaving his fingers through his strawberry blonde hair, and crashed his lips against the Canadian's. Canada's eyes widened as he felt America's warmth mouth pressed firmly to his, kissing forcefully. His heart pounded in his ears and he stood frozen to his spot.

He pushed America away by his shoulders and between gasping breaths tried to ask," America what are you doing? What about Li-"

"Canada…hush." That voice…saying his name… he was powerless, weak, and immobile. All he could do was kiss back like his life depended on it, some closed mouth some open. America's tongue touched and entwined with his and his hands found Canada's waist, settling on it firmly pulling him closer. Canada tilted his head and clung to the blonde's neck savoring every second.

He didn't know if America meant this… he didn't know why America was doing this… America told him to hush… so he did.

_Author's Notes_

_Ahh America you are such a confusing man. I'm trying my hardest to portray the complexity of the relationship between two people who have loved and loss. It's a hard subject to write, especially throwing depression into the mix, but I'm trying my best!_

_I'm hoping to update this frequently because I've already written a good portion of this story so I plan on finishing it up by the end of the month._

_Thanks for reading~!_


	3. Melt Me Into Your Heart

"A-Ah America!" Canada cried out arching his back as the man on top of him thrust inside him relentlessly. He tried to remember how the doorway had lead to the bedroom. Tongues entwining had turned into America's mouth on his neck, chest, and waist, everywhere.

Almost like magic, their clothing had been discarded and forgotten in a matter of seconds, probably strewn along the hallway leading to the bed where the two were entwined in a passionate dance.

Canada felt America drive even deeper into his willing hole and he bit his lip to hold back his screams of absolute pleasure. His arms locked around America's neck as did his legs around his waist. America was moaning close to his ear and he could the warmth breath on the shell. He never wanted this to end.

"America please…more…" Canada said in between panting breaths. America complied and drove himself harder and faster in the Canadian, reveling in the sweet sounds that he was eliciting.

Canada wanted America to make him his. Weld their naked bodies together. Create a bond impossible to break. Melt together… stay this way forever…

Canada closed his eyes and let the sound of America's voice and the immense pleasure he was feeling take him off and drift to a place where he was happy with America.

_Author's Notes_

_Yeah, now you all see why I changed the rating._

_Thank you all so much for all the positive feedback! I didn't think that this story would do so well but apparently I was certainly wrong! I'm glad so many of you like this story and I'm so glad that you are pleased with the way I'm writing it~! All your words are appreciated and are fuel for me to continue this project! I'll post a longer chapter in a few days~_

_Thank you all so much for reading~!  
_


	4. Sweet Poison

America was still so gorgeous. Canada smiled in spite of himself as he realized he hadn't forgotten all the small details of the other man's face. His right eyebrow still curved higher than the left, his cheeks still had that extra bit of chub on them, his bottom lip still jutted out slightly, and his eyelashes were still long. Canada had always teased America about having long eyelashes, saying they made him look girly. America had always teased Canada back for looking like a girl everywhere else. That was another thing Canada remembered perfectly about America.

Even though America cracked jokes almost constantly and tossed insults into the wind without much care, the ones he aimed towards Canada were never malicious. They never held any bitterness or harm, only a sarcastic laugh, but a gentle promise that he still cared about his feelings.

Canada smiled as he realized the previous night was proof of that, was proof that America still cared about what he felt. He wouldn't have stayed if he didn't right? Why else would he have come over and cleaned his arms? Canada couldn't, and didn't want to, find another explanation. He raised a hand and stroked the other's chiseled jaw, choosing to divulge into happier memories than think of the negative times between then and now.

Sinking back into the embers of sweet nothing memories, Canada picked out a time when he hadn't been able to sleep and chose to read in the living room for a while. It must have been three or four in the morning, he was sitting in the chair with his knees up under a blanket, a copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ in his hands. Looking back now, Canada should have known better than to read that so early in the morning. He must have read the novel at least ten times, but the ending almost made him tear up.

"It's the idea that there's good in the world in the darkest corners, the monsters are the helpless ones" he had tried to explain so many times. Despite his reasoning, that night in the chair he found himself once again, crying his eyes out silently as he finished the last few pages of the book. He must have woken America since the blonde had poked his head into the room and started laughing quietly.

No harm or hurt in his laughter, just a sense of knowing. The knowledge that Canada was a sap and had cried over this same book at this same part so many times, and the permission that it was okay to do so. Canada remembered America's words being something along the lines of "don't tell me, the glass slipper didn't fit Boo's foot and Atticus _isn't _prince charming?". Sarcastic, taunting, but underneath that, caring. A special tone of voice he reserved only for the Canadian. A voice that got him to smile through tears and laugh at himself, be more comfortable with life.

And here he was again. Right in front of him, as if he had never left. The same body sleeping in the same position - one arm folded underneath his head and one leg bent up - in the same spot on the bed breathing the same air as Canada. The same face fitting in Canada's hand, the apple of a cheek cradled into a palm. Things becoming mended again, patched up to fill in the holes, they could make it work.

America stirred. Canada withdrew his hand, worried he'd woken him. America raised a hand and rubbed it across his face with a soft sigh. In a sleepy voice he asked, "Hmm... what time is it...?"

"Almost ten."

America let out another soft "hmm" and squinted, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight coming in from the partially open curtains. "You sure? Your clock looks it says..." More squinting "Zero, zero, eighty-two..."

"Still blind as a bat I see." Canada smiled softly, handing America his glasses off the night stand. America nodded a thanks. After sliding them onto his face he let out a small snort.

"You're worse. These are yours." Canada smiled softly and uttered an apology before reaching over and grabbing the other pair of glasses. That was another fond memory Canada had, the numerous times they had mistaken the other's glasses for their own. It was nice to be like this again, to fall back into these small routines and habits, however silly they were. Maybe he was predicting things were going to be okay early and maybe he was too eager, but this, America rubbing his eyes naked in bed next to him, had to mean something. This was hope, this was the shy promise that things were going to get better and that all the holes were going to get patched up.

"Do you want breakfast? I don't really have much, but I could make something. Uhm I know you don't like fruit all too much, but I can probably find enough to make waffles...or pancakes, I'm-"

"Matty calm down." America smiled. "I'm not hungry right now. Besides, I'd eat your kitchen if I was."

Canada giggled, but felt a tension of sorts coming off the other man. His eyes were slowly moving around, taking in the room without really seeing it. Canada knew that meant America was staring down thoughts instead of looking at the scenery. The blonde bit a corner of his bottom lip and sighed - almost nervously - before speaking again.

"Look uhm, last night I don't know why I did it." Canada's smile started to die, slowly fading away from his face and disappearing into the shadows of the partially lit room.

"I was worried about you. Seeing you with... with those on you." The cuts, he could already feel new ones forming. "I didn't want to leave you alone."

Then please don't leave me, not again, please don't tear yourself away from me again.

"I... I still don't want to leave you alone, but..."

I can't take it. Don't leave, not again.

"I need to get some fresh clothes and grab a few things. You know...if you want me to stay here."

Canada braced for the hurt. He waited for the river of pins to come sailing through his veins, for the sharp burn to pump from his heart and fill him to the brim with an icy agony. He waited for the impalement of a glacier through his chest but felt... a sense of floating surround him. Gentle hands caressing him and shushing him, winding gently through his hair and whispering "it's alright, he's staying here, he's not leaving".

His blue eyes turned up from his own blanketed lap to the clear, questioning eyes of the other. Slowly a smile found its way on his face and he nodded. Words tumbled out clumsily, trying not to sound needy and eager, but also giving an air of needing. "Y-Yeah I understand! Take your time!"

"You sure...? You seemed kind of quiet. I thought you were going to kick me out. I didn't want to just invite myself here. I mean I know you said your door is always open but..."

"It is." Canada ran his fingers through his bangs as he sat up, facing away from the American. "I thought you were telling me you were going to leave again."

They both fell silent for a long moment. The sunlight coming in was growing in a wider bar on the wood floor as the sun rose higher in the sky. The curtains hung dormant alongside the window's panes, a few leaves bustling around making shadows. Canada almost jumped when he felt America's fingers run down his spine, pausing minutely at each bump. "I'm not leaving. I'm gonna stay here, okay? You don't need to worry."

The Canadian tried to keep his sigh of relief soft and silent, not too obvious. He smiled again as America rose to sit next to him. America looked over and smiled too for a moment before ruffling his hair.

"So I'm gonna grab some shit, shouldn't take too long. Do you want to come with me?"

"You're not much better at keeping house than you were before are you?" Canada called as he took a seat on the American's couch with a smile. It was no surprise to any that America did not do a fantastic job of keeping his house clean and tidy. It was by no means a complete mess but it most certainly wasn't with some clutter. After the blonde had let him in, Canada had seen a few dishes stacked up in the kitchen, neglected and containing about half of the cup boards. It was typical for the other man but he had always found it cute. The floor in the living room had been vacuumed and the furniture without harshly noticeable spots, but a pile of half folded laundry sat to his right. A few white shirts were neatly folded and the rest was a now wrinkled mess.

"Cleaning isn't my thing! A clean house is a sign of a lazy person who isn't willing to look for anything!" the other answered from upstairs in a raised tone, his voice reverberating off the walls. "Make yourself at home, I'll be a few minutes!"

Canada assumed that America was back to packing as he heard a thumping around in the upstairs closet, most likely trying to retrieve a suit case. He smiled softly to himself and decided to take a look around. The house hadn't changed much, the same couch with the same dips in the cushions was perched in the living room. The same banister had the same crack in the very end of it, barely noticeable but it would pinch your hand horribly if you pressed on it the right way. Deciding there was more to see upstairs than down, he crept up the wooden stair case and let his palm glide along and press in the identical spots they had so many times. As he reached the top, the blonde remembered back to the time his counterpart had taken a wrong twist of the ankle and went tumbling down the case. America of course said the pain from the fall wasn't bad, but how bad Canada was destroying his ear drums with screaming and yelling was pretty bad.

The Canadian couldn't help but chuckle as he wondered if the slap to the shoulder hurt worse.

Turning his head to the right as he crossed down the hallway he observed that the same pictures hung from the walls and displayed the same smiles that shone from the frames. A bottled happiness that lived on and hung against a white, shining through to the rest of the room. America only had a few hanging but they had been there for ages. One was of America and his father England, smiling from a black and white photo. It was not hard to see this picture was old, the edges were fraying and some spots were peeling away to white. The other was of America himself, a portrait of him in uniform saluting in front of a flag. Ever the prideful one.

Though...the third one was new. Canada footsteps ceased suddenly as he sucked in his bottom lip and chewed. An instantaneous wave of guilt flooded over him as his eyes fell on green orbs that smiled from a pale face full of gentleness and kindness. How could he have forgotten...

"Hey Matty, do I need to bring more than one jacket or-" America saw the other standing in front of the dark wooden frame, eyes staring sadly at the portrait hanging there. They both had forgotten apparently.

"Alfred I can't...I can't do this to Toris." Canada hung his head in shame and looked at the floor. He felt the Lithuanian's eyes on him, getting more and more broken by the second. This wasn't fair to him, to either of them. Suddenly he felt ashamed, he felt like running back home, and hiding in his bedroom for a long time. No, the bedroom held too much shame now, that's where this started. He had done this, he was responsible for this, this was his fault. He should have felt ashamed. This was wrong. "You should stay here."

The American stood quiet, unable to form words for the other. He could see the pain in his eyes and could only imagine the sorts of self loathing comments running through his head. With the knowledge of Canada's tendency to always take the blame, he was also perfectly aware the other was blaming himself entirely for what had happened the night before. He opened his mouth a few times, words of solace floating in the back of his throat but swallowing them all, realizing they probably wouldn't have made a difference. America knew what the other was saying was true, this was wrong. He should stay here. He should let Canada go home by himself. He should go buy flowers for Lithuania and tell him what happened.

Canada was thinking the same, but other thoughts found their way into his head as well. Thoughts that were telling him he had no right to feel sad or hurt about being left alone. This is what he did when he got attention? This was the kind of action he took to reach out to another human being? Throwing a tantrum and coming near tears to guilt trip another into staying? How dare he feel in pain for being alone, he deserved it, he deserved every second of his solitude. He deserved every side glance that was doubled with a grimace. He deserved every unanswered phone call and email. He deserved the lack of company.

"I deserve to hurt." Canada's voice was quiet as he crossed his arms over stomach, shielding his bandaged forearms with his hands. They burned and stung upon contact which only made him want to squeeze tighter. Make them bleed, pay his penance for doing such awful things. "I hurt you and I hurt Toris... I deserve this, I deserve these-"

"No you don't." The American spoke up, surprised by the words coming from Canada's mouth. "Don't say that, no one deserves that. I know-...I know what we did wasn't the best choice, but it happens we're human."

"That's no excuse I should have known better."

"And I should have too. I don't want you blaming yourself for this though...I don't want to see more of those." He took a step closer to the blonde, feeling a blooming pain in chest, one filled with guilt and sorrow, a hopelessness and desperation he wasn't partial to. Something only this man could make him feel. The only one who could make America feel powerless with just a look or a few words. Could make him feel so low and yet so high, he had forgotten this so long ago...shoved it away along with the picture of Canada that used to hang where Lithuania's picture now did. "I never thought I would ever catch you doing something like that. I never thought you'd want to... I had no ideas things were that bad for you."

Canada started to protest. "No, please, I did something horrible with you- to you. I made you feel like you had to take care of me. You're probably hurting too, I should worry about you! I was being selfish. I just wanted some attention, I'm sorry-"

"And what's wrong with wanting a little attention from someone?" America closed the gap between the two of them and pulled Canada gently into his arms. Fitting his chin over the smaller man's head, he held the mutilated arms to his chest. He kept his voice in a soft, soothing tone as he spoke into the shell of Canada's ear. "I'm fine Matty, I want to be here for you. It's high time someone did. Things have been bad for you...haven't they?"

The Canadian was still for a long moment, allowing the words to fully soak into his chest before reacting. His mind - the lines between rational and irrational blurred - was telling him that he should do what was right. But what was right? Either way someone was getting hurt. But wasn't that selfish? Didn't America just state that he was allowed to be selfish...? Had the long years of hurting given him the right to divulge into the comfort or did he still deserve the pain? Why had everyone been ignoring him, why hadn't they responded? Did he deserve it or were they ignorant? Did he really, honestly deserve to bare these wounds?

All he could manage in response was a soft nod.

"I don't want to lose you." Canada leaned his head forward into the comforting shoulder and curled against the warm, familiar torso tightly. He didn't want to think about repercussions right now. His mind was too muddled and his heart was in too much pain to consider anything anymore. The pain was too loud, to fierce, too agonizing, and he was so tired. He didn't want to hurt right now. He just wanted it to stop, he wanted to sleep, wanted everything to go away. Wanted America to make it all better again. Love him like he used to. Come back into his life and stop the tears. Fill the gaping void he left behind. Say he was sorry for ever leaving and promise never to do it again. Promise the pain would never, ever come back.

"Let's get you home."

That was a good start.

_Author's Note_

_For those of you still with me, thank you! I know I haven't updated this in far too long and I feel awful for doing so! I lost the interest in writing for a long while and left a lot of work undone. I had forgotten about this story until a few reviews popped up and caused me to go back and reread what I had put up. And here we are with chapter four. Finally._

_You all have full permission to kick me and beat me senseless for taking so horribly long._

_I don't feel all too happy with this chapter but I'm hoping that's just me. I must have wrote and rewrote this about five times and this was the best I could do. I'm sorry. I hope it's somewhat of a good read! I promise chapter five will come much quicker!_

_Havoc_


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